Hard to Say
by feed me
Summary: -ON HOLD- Taichi is trying to get over something traumatic in his life, but he can't find the words.
1. Kleenex

Disclaimer: Digimon is not mine. I don't wish to own digimon. I do, however, wish to own digimon fandom. I mean, geez, have you seen how many talented authors write for this fandom?! [[sigh]]

Note: This is completely AU. There are no digimon. I am abusing the right to butcher characters. I'm probably also er… "borrowing" plots from somewhere… sorry?

Hard To Say

Chapter One - Swirl

"Good morning Taichi. How are you feeling?"

The same as I was feeling yesterday, I guess. Not too good, you'd probably tell me, because you look at me a little more frustrated and worse, more pitiful, every time you see me. It's not like I do it on purpose, you know? I don't want to make you worry. You shouldn't worry over a problem that's not there. 

"Have you been doing well lately Taichi? I'd like to know if you've stuck to the things we've discussed last session. How did you go?"

I look away from you guiltily. But you probably think I'm looking at the wall or something. I haven't been doing too well in that either. Last night I did that thing you told me not to do. What was it again? Oh yeah, thinking. No thinking, you said. But I didn't listen to you. I thought about a lot of things. Will you be mad? If you ever find out that is.

"You know you can talk to me, or we could just talk about anything you want to talk about."

Your carpet is quite nice. I feel sorry that I've ruined the clean cream colour with my dirty sneakers. You didn't say anything about them, you know, because you're kind of professional about that type of thing I guess. Your face has the "business look" on it. You have the air of a professional around you, with your fancy pin stripe suit and your thin gold framed glasses. Do you know what's funny about glasses? Every time someone takes theirs off, it looks as if they have such little eyes. So small, like it doesn't suit the face they reside in without the glasses to frame them. I had glasses once you know, but that was because the optometrist was trying to make money off of us and told me to wear them when I didn't need them. So I wonder if you need yours, or if you were like me, and got sucked in. I would laugh if you did, though. I was only eight at the time, and you're a full grown woman. Your normal face, without the business type façade you put on, would remind me of aging mothers, looking after their kids, taking them to school, cooking for the family, bossing your husband around…

You hand me the box of Kleenex you keep on the coffee table. I don't understand why you have though. Is there something on my face? If so, you should tell me. I don't understand when people do that. Why they think because they know the reason behind an action then the person doing the action knows as well, and then helps them but the person doesn't understand that there's something wrong. I hate analyzing. I suck at it. You know those self evaluation sheets that they give us in class so we can check off our progress? I never fill them in. I don't like feeling as though there must be a strict guideline towards what I can and can't do, or how I should do things, and how I should be like everyone else, and fill the damn things out, but most of all, I don't want to see after I've finished the task, that somewhere along the line, I had forgotten to do the most crucial part and hadn't ticked the box. Or maybe that I had done it, but didn't know that I did, and do it all over again to get it right and be paranoid, always double-checking and following the stupid little table with neatly typed lines and spaces. They're going to take over my life.

And I still don't know why you're holding the Kleenex. I don't have a cold or anything. I think I would have felt snot dripping down my face by now. My eyes itch like crazy though. 

You lean in close and I scoot back in the plush pleather of the sofa. You're a bit close for my liking. Gently, your hand tugs on a tissue and draws it from its home, rubbing my face with it. It comes away damp, so you scrunch it and throw it into your metal wastebasket and take another, repeating the same motions. This one is not so damp, but you still throw it away. We throw away a lot of things we don't really think about a lot. Well, until they're trashed of course. Then you chide yourself for waste and trees lost and all that other hippie mumbo jumbo.   

You recline back into your chair and smile slightly. I don't know what you expect me to do now that you've done it.

I don't know a lot of things.

"It's all right not to want to talk right now Taichi, I don't blame you for it. You've had a rough time, and you'll need a lot of time to get through it. If you don't feel comfortable talking to me about it, perhaps you could talk to someone closer to you, maybe a relative or a friend? If you feel like you can talk about it to them, that's the best help anyone can give you."  

You give me a lilt, and your motherly face shines before the high window pane of your office, glowing around your face as if water was flowing over your skin. The glow is backlit by the sun's demise, of course. It doesn't actually glow like that by itself. Nothing human shines like the sun. It is something behind human reach, something constant and ever always. Even though it hides its face for the night, it always welcomes me as I wake. I can depend on the sun to rise every day. I used to think that was all I needed to get on with my life, but I was wrong. Even if the sun is always there, it doesn't care about me. Even though the sun shines on everyone, it favours no one. It doesn't matter how much you love it, it won't stay the whole day even if you beg it until your voice breaks and dies away. 

I shift in my seat and focus back on your eyes. Did you know that eyes tell a lot about a person? You can't hide anything in your eyes. It's always swirling with something, brightens and darkens, clouds and shines. It tells me everything I need to know about someone. Right now, your eyes tell me you're tired. You tried very hard today, the concealer hiding the slightest hint of bags under your thin eyelashes. No one would know you had been missing sleep if not for the darkish tint of your eyes, how the colours sway more then swirl. You need to sleep to be energized everyday, you know. Coach always says so, especially before a big match. He hates it when we show up half asleep. He says we're more likely to lose, no matter how much more skilled we are than the other team. It hasn't happened yet, but it's been a while since I've last gone to one of them anyway.   

The blues are shifting again. They almost stop swaying, and your eyes get a little pinched, the eyelids shifting ever so slightly downwards. You blink, and it's gone, but the blues have stopped swaying. It's an expression I see often in many eyes these days. 

Disappointment.

"Right then." You say standing up, and take three exact steps with the soles of your stilettos softly leaving indents within the carpet, three neat holes evenly spaced and would remain there until the cleaners come in with their vacuum cleaners and smooth it over, so that they disappear forever, or until you wear those shoes again. But they'll be different holes won't they? On a hopefully different patient who's crazy enough to look at other's shoes instead of at their face. 

"I'm sorry, but it's time to go Taichi." You open the blue door slightly, turning back to me, eyes trained on my face, but I'm staring at the wall behind your shoulder blades. I get up from the comfy pleather sofa and scuff my shoes against the carpet. I want to tell you, you know? But I just don't want to talk right now. 

"I'll see you on Thursday, at four. Don't hesitate to call me to book at another time." I smile slightly. I don't think that will happen any time soon. I think it would be a lot better for everyone if I started talking again, but it's hard to get going, you know? It's funny, because I'm – I was – one of those people who would never shut up and now… 

I just don't want to talk.  

 End chapter one

Reviewing means I know people are reading. So out of the kindness of your heart, please give me a couple of words.


	2. Humid

Disclaimer – Yeah, why don't you haul ass on my lawyer for that one.

Notes – Hints. Other hints, but not to do with our dear brunette. Much thinking but not a whole lot of action. 

Chapter Two – Shift

Natsuko Takaishi was a professional. Her pride in being a professional, and a good professional at that, refused to let her scream in exasperation. 

//Two weeks. Five meetings. Not a WORD.// She wrung her hands in displeasure. Natsuko may not have been the best psychiatrist in her ward, hell, she probably was down on the bottom rung somewhere, but she knew she had to be good at her job. They wouldn't have hired her if she didn't show them something they liked, right? What was she doing wrong? 

She shifted herself, and plunked herself on the corner of her mahogany desk. Pulling a well-worn manila folder out of her briefcase, she skimmed the first page of their contents, knowing almost by heart what it contained. 

//Name, Yagami Taichi. Age, sixteen. Japanese ethnic male. Post-trauma experiences. Proceed delicately. 

Taichi won't speak.// 

Speak was underlined several times. 

Natsuko sighed, taking her glasses and squeezing the bridge of her nose lightly. The picture beside the description of her client was a far cry from what she had seen just fifteen minutes previously. For one, he was grinning. Infectious, she supposed, if he were to do it anywhere. All she had seen him do in her office was smile slightly, the tight lines protruding from his young face as though it was painful to do so. His eyes never smiled. And eyes don't lie. 

Of course, it doesn't take a shrink to work out he wasn't happy.  She could feel the beginnings of a headache working it's way behind her eyes. Examining the photograph once more, she had a feeling that unless some miracle occurred, Yagami Taichi was likely never to smile like that again. 

_-*

"I'm off mama."

"Already? Hold on one moment," Satsuki Ichijouji handed the plastic Tupperware over to her son. It smelled of motherly home cooking, a scent that permeated throughout their home. 

Ken never seemed to notice the smell usually. Yet he knew that it was so integrated into his being that without it, it wouldn't be his home. He wondered if Taichi noticed things like that too.    

As he took the box to leave, he bowed goodbye to his mother and started for the front door.

"Ken?"

He stopped, and turned around slowly. "Yes mama?"

"Don't forget to invite him back here, will you?" She smiled at him kindly, and passed him his coat. Nodding, he put it on quickly, and let himself out of the apartment. 

"As if I would forget something so important." He muttered. He took the lift down to the ground floor and walked briskly to Tamachi station. By now, surely Taichi would have finished his session, and Ken refused to let him wallow unaccompanied. Wallowing was an activity that Ken was somewhat proficient in, and to have Taichi do the same…

He couldn't bear it.

A frustrated little noise made its way out of his throat. 

'To think something like this could have happened to him, it's not possible…' //Why didn't you come to me instead? I'm so tired of waiting…//

The train slid noisily beside the platform, three minutes later than it should have. Ken let the rush of commuters stream past him, cradling his precious burden to his chest before joining the masses inside the carriage. 

The train ride was quiet. He fiddled with his inky blue-black hair, twirling the fine strands through his fingers, watching them slide off his nails like water

// thick water, wet and horrible, sloshing down into the sewer drains, mixing with the—_oh god—_ so much _blood I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't breathe it must be because of the screaming _//

   and falling back into place. The Tupperware switched arms as the doors slid open and he quietly slipped past. 

Outside, Odaiba stood in summer heat, the tall buildings sending off smouldering waves. He passed people on the streets, ignoring the occasional whispers and giggles, only nodding politely to a few acquaintances along the way. His past fame still followed him, like a lingering aftertaste of some foul beverage.  He didn't mind it as much as he once had, because he had realized so many things were more important than what other people thought about him. 

// "Why should you live up to someone else's expectations of who you are? That's just stupid."

    "What's wrong with acting on other people's suggestions?" 

    "You're not acting on it Ken, you're a freaking yes-man. Anything they say you should do, you do it. Haven't you ever had the urge to say no?"

    "I don't see what's wrong with pleasing people."

    "Yeah? I don't see what's wrong with pleasing yourself once in a while too."

    "Well, I'm friends with you aren't I?" 

    "See? Why don't you talk to anyone else like that?"

    "Because you're not just anyone, Yagami-san. More tea?"

    "…You don't even like tea, do you?"

    "Perhaps."

    "You know, it's not going to kill you to dislike something."

    "Well, why don't you tell me what I should dislike and I shall dislike it right away."

    "Oh, ha ha."  //

He took a moment to smile at the fond memory, as he made his way up the apartment complex where he hoped Taichi had come home to, steeling himself for what was to come. During the past few weeks, that had happened more and more often. The memories of happier times, as if his mind was protecting himself from seeing the shell his friend had become, for him to live in the times when Taichi was the one supporting him, even if Ken didn't realize that himself. 

To live in happy times one day, and for the next day to let in the regrets, and the hollow feeling left soon after. The hollow times he remembered so well, only stopping when Taichi had filled the empty space with his cheerfulness and his friendship. Well, he hoped to return the favour now. As best as he could anyway because lord knows he should be the last person allowed to be a, well, shoulder to cry on. 

By the time he had reached Taichi's apartment, he was sweltering, partially blind from the lack of light and swearing as he dropped his keys for the third time. Keys he had kind of stolen from the brunette after carefully put away anything with a sharp enough edge, just to be safe. He sincerely doubted that Taichi would do such a thing (as, once again, this was really Ken's forte), but it couldn't hurt to be careful. 

Wiping his brow free of perspiration, he become quite irritated with the humid weather and, worst of all, the stickiness he had acquired after getting up the rather tall building. 

' I swear if he's not in there, I'll send all of his soccer memorabilia to Uruguay. Christ, why does he have to live so high up…?' 

Fumbling with the damn keys once more, he tried to jam it inside the lock, and turn the knob at the same time.

And almost fell when the door gave almost immediately. He gazed at the dimly lit hallway wryly. 

'Either he's home, or Odaiba's criminal kingpins haven't been training their newbies like they used to.'

With a sigh, he tucked the keys back into the back pocket of his jeans and stepped inside the unusually cooler apartment. While not as humid as the outside hallway, it was decidedly more unnerving without the warmer temperature.

'Must reflect perfectly on how Taichi is feeling, I suppose.' 

He checked the rather empty room for any unususal looking brown shrubs that usually upon closer inspection, turned out to be Taichi crouching in the corner on the verge of hyperventilating with his head between his knees rather than a rotting house plant. Noting nothing out of place in the living area, he turned to the small kitchen, placing his Tupperware on the counter. Nothing unusual here either. 

Making his way to the bedrooms, only a little bit worried now, he opened the door to find…nothing.

And then nearly had a heart attack as the door behind swung open, finding Taichi at last, coming out of the bathroom. He glared at the shorter teen. 

"Since when did you start leaving your doors unlocked?"

Taichi just shrugged, moving around the irate bluenette into his room, taking off his baggy off white t-shirt and changing into a less noticeable black long sleeved turtleneck. As Ken watched him, he suppressed his shock at how very thin his friend had become, evident by how the turtleneck hardly clinged to the teen's frame at all. Even though he had witnessed his friend's life deteriorating right before his eyes, it suddenly became very clear to him just how _bad _Taichi was treating himself. Silently, he promised himself he would stuff food down his throat at every single opportunity he had. 

Taichi almost jumped over the messes on his floor on his way to his unmade bed, grabbing a small whiteboard resting on a pile of blankets, ones you use for phone messages and reminders and such, and swinging it over his head with a piece of pale string. Uncapping the thin whiteboard marker in one graceful curve, he wrote on it while gesturing for Ken to sit…somewhere sitable. 

Ken opted to stand over the bed, carefully jumping and taking large steps over piles of painful memories. He stood close to but not touching the bedspread that had, surprise surprise, fallen somewhat halfway off the bed onto the floor, hidden under a stack of books and some…origami? 

"Don't…you lock your doors anymore?" Ken asked softly. Was this a passive attempt to destroy himself? //I should have tried that…it could work for me when I finish taking care of you. //

Taichi stopped. He seemed to think of something, tilting his head on an angle before shaking his head and rubbing the board with his black sleeve, erasing whatever he had been doing before. 

Quickly, he wrote on it before showing it to Ken, smiling somewhat weakly as he did so. 

=Habit, I suppose= 

Habit…Now that Ken thought about it, it always was _Hikari_ that locked the doors behind her.

He blanched. 

"Are you saying you've been leaving your door unlocked for the _past two months_? Taichi! That's dangerous! What if you get robbed?!" In his haste on previous occasions, he had never bothered to question why the door was open, only to view it as one less trivial thing to worry about, but now…                

Taichi looked around and raised eyebrow. 

Ken relented, shoulders slumped. "Ok, I suppose if the apartment looks like its already been robbed, that would discourage any robbers from checking if there was anything valuable left to steal…" 

Taichi nodded sagely, and was rewarded with a flick to his forehead for all of his wisdom.

Ken left the room, surveying the apartment from a third person's point of view. What would one think of if they had never seen this home before?

Inside the apartment, the place really looked as if it had been robbed, no doubt about it. No television, no VCR, no DVD, no priceless antiques nor expensive sound equipment or gaming equipment, no tables, no _chairs._ In fact, the only thing the living space held was an orange beanbag and half a dozen framed pictures on the wall. The only way to tell that there was, once, in fact, _anything_ in here were the indentations in the carpet, and the dust lying around quadrilateral shapes. 

The small kitchen area fared better only because the sink and stove wasn't detachable from the wall, and neither was the tiled countertop, which was still housing his forlorn Tupperware. The only thing out of place was the metallic refrigerator, and Ken guessed that was because either Taichi didn't need to sell it yet, or it was too troublesome to remove it, right in the corner next to the stove. The microwave resting on top of it was just a mystery. He had no idea why that was still there. 

The curtain-less window above the sink gave a clear view of the humid Odaiba summer night, visible as soon as he had stepped inside, being directly opposite to the front door. The high rise buildings backlit by neon lights from various shopping strips and lamp posts, a black sky with barely any lights of its own that could show through the density of the pollution and clutter in the city. The view was a familiar one, Ken thought glumly, as was the cold, bare mess of the apartment was quickly becoming accepted as the norm. He was quick to forget the place so full of life and warmth, and was too easily accepting this empty space as his friend's home.

He closed his eyes heavily. Yes, if one were to look objectively, this would be no place for someone to live. An empty apartment needing to be cleaned before they could rent it out and then forgotten about, or maybe, one place a squatter had used briefly and left. Certainly abandoned, most of the lights dim and about to go out if they hadn't already. 

Yes, if one did not venture past the front doorway, it certainly wasn't worth robbing. The most use the apartment was getting was the brunette's bedroom and the bathroom, the latter being comfort zone more than anything else. Inside Taichi's bedroom was a whole different story. Before it was an orderly sort of chaos, and now the mess was breeding of its own accord: boxes, clothes, toys, purses, papers, pictures, negatives, the all important camera…All sorts of soccer memorabilia of course, but inside that one little room…Ken felt claustrophobic, the clutter was enclosing him, suffocating him almost and if it was this bad for him…  

He realized with a little jump that Taichi had been staring at him for some time from the counter. When did he…?

Ken, for the second time that night, almost had a heart attack at the sudden vibration coming from his coat pocket.

_-*

You know, I like you a lot. A lot a lot. You're like, my best friend. And, if for no one else, I would start talking again for you I think. I mean, I don't think I _will_, but, I would, you know? 

No, of course you don't. I mean, it's not like you can hear my thoughts or anything, but on those sci-fi fantasy shows on tv shows and stuff, smart people can always read people's minds. I mean, this rules me out totally, but you could be reading my mind right now…

YOUR MOM IN A BIKINI! 

…

…nothing? Oh well, it was worth a shot. It woulda been nice, ya know? Telepathic communication and such. But then it might not be a good idea if everyone could do it. Like, what if you were telepathic and you could hear your dog's thoughts or something? Like, you know that dogs are loyal right? Just 'cause they're loyal doesn't mean that they love you and junk. And just 'cause they love you it doesn't mean they'll always be there to love you. And just 'cause you hear all that doesn't mean that your dog can suddenly understand you, anyway. But I've never owned a dog so I guess I wouldn't know.

Been a long time since you left the room. It's cool how you didn't step on any of the mess, 'cause if you did I'd be unhappy but you've been around a couple of times when I've been unhappy so I guess it doesn't matter how unhappy I am at you 'cause you don't go away. That makes me sorta happy. 

Just a little.

I don't need to see where I step to get out of my room, it's not necessary when I've already committed to memory where every thing is on the floor. I would have giggled when you looked at the origami like it would jump up and say "Hey! Don't mess with me foo'!", but I didn't because it wasn't really that funny to me now then when it would've had me in stitches some time ago. I like making those little things though, gives me something to concentrate on, something completely inane but totally time consuming. Especially in the dark because then your eyes get really tired and your brain's really gotta concentrate because silly me, I don't wanna get up and turn on the lights, oh no…

They say if you make a thousand cranes then you get a wish, well, that's what she told me when she was folding those things anyway. Some story about some girl and a hospital or a mother or something? And a picture with all these threaded origami cranes hanging in long lines from the ceiling. But the artist was lazy, kind of like me, and didn't really draw a thousand cranes. Which really sucks you know? You should put at least some effort into it if you're going to sell it to people. A thousand cranes equals one wish.

I think it's a scam so you buy fifty pieces of specifically decorated folding paper at two dollars a box. What a rip, right? 

And you're really taking a long time. Did you fall into the toilet or something? It would be funny to see such an elegant figure as yourself half stuck in the bowl but you're a bit too sensible for that. You're almost so sensible it scares me sometimes because I don't think you have enough fun at all. Like that first time you held a playstation controller in your hand and just _stared _at it. I mean, you knew how to hack into private government files if you really wanted to, but you didn't know that you had to press the button on the actual machine and not repeatedly squeeze the "start" button on the controller to get the thing to work. That night you were completely shameful as a teenager and good god, a boy for crying out loud. No boy, in all of Japan, doesn't know how to work a gaming system. Oh, the horror! You were so embarrassed but we laughed so hard and she was there taking pictures as usual…

There you are. 

You've got a really sad looking profile, and you know it, because I've told you many times before. Melancholy and very cold, like ice. Especially when you stand in front of the sink looking out the window like you fell from the sky and don't know how to climb back up there. And I stare for a while too, because the sun has gone down and I didn't even realize it. But that's ok, because I didn't expect it to wait for me.

Not as much as I used to. 

You stand with your eyes shut, and I wonder if you can sleep standing up because you don't sleep enough as it is. Just like Miss Therapist. Maybe she's one of those people who can sleep with her eyes open, who knows? Oddly, I picture her sleeping behind those gold frames of hers while listening [or in my case, I suppose not really _listening_] to her boring clients and well, that's gotta hurt when she wakes up huh? I read somewhere that it's not good for you to sleep and wake up with your glasses on. I don't think I quite understand that, because if you wear them most of the time anyway, what's wrong with sleeping with them? I lift myself onto the countertop and my legs swing through the air like a pendulum, back and forth, back and forth, tick, tock, tick, tock, stop. My legs don't feel like swinging much, like the rest of me. You haven't moved at all, only faint breathes at regular intervals to indicate you are alive. 

The tiling of the countertop is smooth and cool, the small whiteboard resting against my thigh not differing in colour much at all, except for the ugly texta stains that just won't come out no matter how raw my hand is at the end of it. I smile a little when I see that you've bought me more food. It's a big box, too, but then your mother wouldn't have let you go with anything less. I'm glad you're on good terms with her now, and even though you still have problems at least you won't feel it completely unacceptable now to seek out her help, which is good, because helping someone obviously isn't a strong point of mine. 

Its one of the microwave-able ones as well, a wide blue one that no doubt would've been glared at by other commuters on the train. But not too obviously, because I bet they know who you are. But I can't tell if I should get a little worried because you've been standing there motionlessly for a while. Are you obsessing again about one thing or another? Or are you dwelling on your still strong popularity, though I know you're not vain at all but rather wondering if it matters very much to you. Or if you're worrying about me? You shouldn't, you know, because there isn't anything to worry about. If you do you'll wind up getting wrinkles and your fans won't like that one bit.   

And then I wonder if these current situations have reminded you of things better left not remembered at all. 

Some days it's not worth getting out of bed in the morning. 

I stare at your face, coiling and then uncoiling the string of the whiteboard that hangs from my neck and lies on the countertop, and some that hangs off of it. Definite feminine features, like your long eyelashes and your cheekbones, not to mention chin length inky hair girls would, apparently, die for, gave you a complex about your apparent girlish features, but the strong lines of your face and the hardness and frost in your eyes as you matured gave them something to think about, not just label you some pretty androgynous being as the tabloids oh so loved to call you at first.

When I notice you starting to open your eyes, and hey, it's about time, it makes me want to laugh or grin or something other than the very slight twitch of my lips I'm giving you right now when you almost place a hand in front of you defensively, taking half a step back when you do so. You look a little startled Ken! It's not like you not being able to sense someone's presence. Perhaps I have started to fade from reality just a little? If I am I feel so cheated, because doesn't that mean I should have a bad perception of time? Drifting in and out of reality right? This sucks.

Your eyes are all shades of dark blues and deep violets, makes your eyes vary in depth, and like yourself, have many layers. Ken is an onion! And I suppose when you're around I get a bit guilty because I don't really remember the last time I ate, but that's ok! Because my energy can come from eating the fat in my body, right? Or some science-y stuff like that. And though your eyes say you are very tired, they don't sway as much as Miss Therapist because you're just cool enough to hide things from every body, aren't you? Because you're smart like that.

The fridge hums in the background, something I forget because it's so insignificant and small it's not worth noticing at all until the electricity bill gets here…

I should pull out the cord and sell the damn thing. But what can I do? I have to spend money to lug it out of here and I don't have any to spare as it is. And if I ask you for some like you're so desperately hoping I will, I think I'll come to depend on you and well, no offense but I don't want to do that right now. Right now, I want to curl under my blankets and pretend the bunk bed on top of mine is occupied with something other than the junk and dirty clothes I swear must be my imagination because it shouldn't be there. And now I'm kind of thirsty and its become rather hard to breathe because my throats closing up, though for some reason all my favourite glasses have gone except for a plastic Japan League cup I got free from Macdonalds and I swear I don't remember selling them though I must have because where else could they have gone? I should ask you but you're busy at the moment fighting, and sort of losing, a battle with your overly large coat. Do you have a hamster in there or something? 

"Hello? Oh, hello Sora. No, I am with Taichi, why?" 

Yep, with me. Maybe I should go so you can spend some time with people you can talk to intellectually, or just talk to at all. I'm admiring the bright orange of your coat, in such deep contrast with the black of your fingernails tapping against your phone. Your mother must've dressed you into it, because it certainly isn't the right cut for a man's body. Or a woman's body really. Well, unless a woman's hips are somewhere around the knee area, which I wouldn't know because what are hips anyway? Besides things that can be repeatedly bruised and broken during a hard tackle in practice. 

"…what?" The blue depths of your eyes sink and darken and the violets shift so fast and then still and steel very suddenly. You look at me half accusingly, half in disbelief, the eyes full of knowledge and those other pesky smart people things. "Oh? Isn't his answering machine working? And his voicemail? I see. So the phone rings but the machine doesn't pick up. Yes, I will discuss this with him."       

What's that look for? My machine's working. My phone's working. What's his problem? Why does everyone look at me as if I'm hiding something? I don't understand that at all.

Abruptly, you start heading towards my room again, opening the door gently though your knuckles have begun to get even paler than is humanly possible. You follow the wires along the bottom of the wall to the floor, carefully spreading various items into piles before you unearth the phone and answering machine. Barely glancing at each of them you turn to look at me again. I'm standing in the doorway because the new piles you have made have blocked my way. 

You close your eyes and silently count to ten in your head, a habit everyone (well, close friends at least) knows well because you get crow's feet when you do it. Just as swiftly as when you entered, you leave, returning to the kitchen and lean against the counter. That is not a good sign. You only have bad posture if you're thinking something you don't know all the pieces to and bend yourself backwards trying to make sense of it all. Or when you're fixing the sink but it's not broken just yet. That spot should have a sign saying 'Property of Ichijouji" because you really like that window don't you? As you're talking your hair gets flattened to the pane and I never realized it before but there is a crack towards the bottom of it that must have been a rock or something though I've never noticed that window being damaged before. But there's something not right about the pattern of the almost shattered surfaced since it looks like its chipping inward and I don't think glass is meant to do that if smashed from the outside but what am I talking about because like I know anything about physics anyway… 

"Taichi."

Yes?

"Sora and Koushirou are holding a table at Jackaranda. Do you want to go meet them?"

I don't know. Last time I saw them they stared at me a lot. In fact, every time I looked at them they always seemed to be watching me. It was uncomfortable and they handed me serviettes at the same time as each other, just like Miss Therapist did with the tissues before. Except when I didn't take them there was such an awkward silence I got up and left. 

"Taichi?"

And then I look at you and I feel guilty. It's not like I don't want to go with you to see them. I mean, it's not like they're going to gut me once they see me or something like that, though now I feel like I want to lie on my back in the bathroom for a little while but you're still waiting for me so patiently, so how can I say no? So I nod, and you smile and say we'll be there in another half hour before switching off the small cellular and slipping it back in the coat pocket where that yet to be seen hamster may or may not still emerge. Oddly, as I notice on the way out the door when I lift my feet it seems as though we've been standing here for so long our footprints have etched itself onto the kitchen tiles, but that's wrong. It must be the same dirt from Miss Therapist's clean carpet. 

So odd how my shoes are never clean lately.

End chapter two  

Stomach rumbling :: 

And so, four months later on the third day before school comes back I say, gee, I think I have killed my brain cells enough to attempt to get this going again. And I'm reading over the first chapter and thinking "**_I_** WROTE this? Noooo." as you may find when reading over Taichi's section in this chapter, he seems to get rather rambly, no? Seems his thought process is deteriorating somewhat…painfully. Eck. I'm so ashamed, because I don't think he came out anything like he was in the first chapter AT ALL. [shakes fist] Well, that's whatcha get for letting this stew for months. -_-

Ok, so I wonder if because I added in third POVs that I could be losing potential readers. Hm. Since fandom is very much 'I read who I like' I kind of hope this chapter gets read until the end. [shrugs] oh well, I guess I can't help it if people don't like it.              

Thank you very muchly to ||Sillie [why don't you tell me what happened to him? He he he…], ||Vigatus [oh, is very very tragic story of mute caterpillar that drowned in hot spring 20 minutes ago that turn whoever fall into it into very rare animal called Taichi, we call goggleniichuan =D] , ||angelpuss15 [continued!], ||Colonel Sho [not many answering of questions in this one, but I'm glad you liked the idea, =^-^=], ||dorkiss [that's ok, I don't think I've got a very good grasp of what I'm trying to do either…], ||Neko of Death [art? =blush=Thank you, but lets not take this too far…], ||Skittles the Sugar Fairy [yes. Yes it has. Emergency exits to the front, rear, and out the window, thank you for flying!] , ||Litanya [coincidence! So do I ^^], ||Japanese Cowboy [wow, do I LIKE your name! Yay, I have super spelling!], ||Princess Swifty [wow, muses! =huggles=], ||redrose [yeah, pretty obvious hints now right?], and ||Butterflie, fka Crimson Goddess [oh wow, you reviewed me?!? Your fics were one of the first I read getting into the fandom! thank you! And yes, I have read Cut, but the style of her writing isn't something I can recall although I read that book maybe six months ago…-__-] 

Thank you all for reviewing me! *gives free candy to the masses*  

Dedication to the people who can guess what's coming! [and maybe sketches if I get off my lazy butt] 

And so while typing the long ass apartment scene I realize…where the hell is Miko?

Thank you for reading this far! 

Feed Me.


End file.
